


That seat's taken...

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is flirting shamelessly, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, cryptic phone calls, rated E from chapter 17, they are too sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Greg and Mycroft talk on the phone. They talk a lot. But they never meet.





	1. Chapter 1

“Your cooperation has been noted. We’d be very grateful if you continue to support Sherlock Holmes in the future.”

Before Greg could answer that strange voice, the call had been cut. He stared at his mobile, dumbfounded, blinking. No caller ID. He hadn’t recognised the number either. The call had been made to his private number, too.

“What the hell…?” he mumbled as he reached for the button to call back.

[The number you’re attempting to reach is currently…]

He hung up. Of course. Anyone, who’d do such a cryptic phone call wouldn’t be available for a follow-up. But who had…? Greg looked around. The crime scene had emptied. Only a few constables were involved in the clean-up, and in the cold rain, they didn’t even have any onlookers. It was in the middle of the night too. Sherlock Holmes himself had also left, right after he’d rattled down the solution to what had seemed like an accident and had been a murder. Come and gone like a ghost. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had showed up at one of Greg’s crime scenes, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. But that phone call… that had definitely been a first.

The voice had sounded deep and unhurried. The background had been quiet. Greg couldn’t even imagine who had called him. He resolved to ask Sherlock the next time he met him. Greg shook his head, water falling off his hair. It had stopped raining now, and a cold fog was rising. Sometimes he despised London, if only for the weather.

As he walked towards the constables to help them wrap up, he didn’t notice the surveillance camera on the bank building to his right following his steps.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sherlock? Do you have a minute?”

Greg saw the young man jump slightly and turn with a wary look on his face. He had his hands hidden in his coat pockets, but took one one to gesture to the wall next to him.

“I told you. The plant parts here are–”

“Yeah, I know. That’s not why I’m asking you,” Greg cut him off and took a look around.

Sherlock’s eyes widened a fraction as he stepped closer, but he seemed equal parts annoyed and intrigued.

“After that case with the musician last week… I got a phone call. Nothing wild. Caller ID hidden, no way to call back. It was a man, I think, thanking me for working with you. I didn’t have a chance to respond.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Sherlock said. “Under no circumstance should you respond.”

Greg frowned. “Why? They seemed happy. Thanked me.”

“Just take my advice, Lestrade. As you should do in all other things.”

“Who was it?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Don’t know? Or can’t tell me? I guess it’s the latter.”

“Oh, I could tell you, I suppose. But I know it would be frowned upon, and I don’t have to ruin the last good graces I somehow possess. I told you everything I know about this case, for now. Check the garden. I’m cold and now leaving.”

Before Greg could complain, Sherlock had turned and walked away with quick steps. He disappeared behind the low red brick wall, which separated the street from the garden, which Greg was supposed to search. He instructed a constable to do so, relaying the information that Sherlock had given him. With any luck, they would find the missing drugs. Greg carded a hand through his hair. This wasn’t exactly his division, but a man had been murdered over the stash, and they had been in the area, so…

Suddenly his phone rang. ‘Mystery Man’ was calling. Greg had saved the number, of course, so he wouldn’t be caught unaware again.

“Don’t ask Sherlock about me,” the voice said.

“You could say Hello first, you know,” Greg responded, slightly nervous, but determined not to let that shake him.

“My apologies. Good day, detective inspector.”

“That’s–” Greg started, but then the call was cut. 

He groaned in frustration, but then he hesitated. How had the man known? Greg took a good look around, until he laid eyes on a security camera, which was attached to one of the bigger houses in the vicinity. It was pointed directly at him, and he knew the model. It recorded sound, as well as video.

“It’s not very polite to hang up like that... Or spy on people, for that matter,” he said to the camera, and in response it promptly turned away. Greg laughed softly and returned to his work.


	3. Chapter 3

As there was no way to contact the ‘Mystery Man’ himself, Greg had resigned himself to wait for another call. He wasn’t sure there would be one, but somehow he still hoped. The way Sherlock continued to hover around him was a good indication that something would happen sooner or later. And then it was sooner. And it wasn’t good.

Greg reached out to catch Sherlock’s wrists, just as his hand wanted to disappear into his trouser pocket.

“Give me that,” he said.

“What?” Sherlock replied, but didn’t meet his eye.

“Whatever’s in your hand. Give it to me.”

Sherlock grumbled and shook his head.

“Don’t make this difficult, and I won’t make it difficult for you. I’ve been getting enough trouble for letting you roam the crime scenes. The higher-ups tolerate my decision because you bring results. No one will be happy to see you steal evidence. Misbehaviour like that is the quickest way to get you permanently banned, and neither of us want to see that. And now kindly give that to me.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, then opened his hand to reveal a bloodied watch chain, which he had put into a clear bag. Greg snatched it from him.

“I was going to return it after the analysis. I even put it in an evidence bag,” he sulked.

“And I’m grateful that you did. Still, you can’t just snatch this stuff. That’s a criminal offence.”

“Your people are so slow…”

“I’m going to let that slide, if you promise to ask me before you want to see anything up close. I can try arrange access to the relevant places at the Yard… if you’re good.”

“Yes, mummy,” Sherlock mumbled, but made no further complaints.

Greg watched him walk out of the bedroom of the luxury apartment, in which a stock broker should have been found, but as the police had arrived, only the crime scene had still been there, and no body. He was sure that Sherlock would be occupied with this one for a while, as would they all, so he turned back to examine the closed windows, when his phone rang.

“Hello,” the voice on the other end said, and Greg had to grin. So his complaint had actually worked.

“Hello yourself, mystery man,” Greg responded with clear amusement.

“Thank you for not reporting Sherlock,” the voice on the other end said, no indication of any amusement on his side.

Greg waited for the call to cut off, but was surprised when it didn’t.

“You’re welcome. I don’t think he means any harm. He just needs someone to tell him some basic rules of decency to keep to. Like saying a greeting when someone picks up the phone.”

The man cleared his throat. Greg grinned. Jackpot.

“You will be glad to know that the bedroom has been filmed and I can provide you with the identity of the murderer. The camera is located in the chandelier, and streams live to a private server. I will send you the access codes.”

“How did you…?”

Greg heard a tiny laugh at the other end and drew in a short, surprised breath. Then the connection cut off. Just as he stared at his phone in disbelief, his work email pinged. A message from an undisclosed address, probably as unreachable as the phone number, with the required data. Greg looked around to see if anyone else was near, then up to the chandelier, where the camera was supposedly sitting.

“I suppose I don’t have to warn you, because you seem to know everything, but I will try to find out who you are, if only because your voice sounds incredibly hot,” Greg said quietly into the room.

He didn’t mind if his comment crossed a line. The other had crossed so many already, that it was his turn to step up.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg groaned as his phone rang. He took a few deep breaths to quell his anger and then motioned to Sally, who was looking at him with a question in her eyes.

“Sorry. I need to take this in private,” Greg said and turned to walk around the corner and into the emergency staircase. He accepted the call only after the door fell close behind him.

“Detective Inspector, I–”

“No. You listen to me now. I don’t want to hear a single word about Sherlock. I don’t want to hear you make excuses for him. He assaulted that constable, and he’ll be lucky if we allow him in the mere vicinity of any crime scene every again. He is fucking flying right now. High as a kite!”

 

There was only silence on the other end, but Greg could still hear breathing, so he knew the mystery man hadn’t hung up yet. He felt a bit bad for shouting like that, but he felt even more angry about Sherlock’s behaviour.

“I wasn’t calling to reprimand your actions, Detective Inspector. I was calling to commend them. You defused the situation quickly and put Sherlock away yourself. He’s a danger to everyone like that – especially to himself. It was the right call.”

Greg was temporarily dumbfounded, the wind taken out of his sails.

“I called to thank you… and to let you know that Sherlock will be taken care of. He will spend the night in one of your cells, and in the morning he’ll be picked up by my assistant, who will accompany him to a rehab facility.”

“Good… that’s good,” Greg said. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“No apologies needed, Detective Inspector, I assure you.”

There was a slight pause and then the connection cut again. Greg let himself sink against the wall, hand over his eyes. Thank god. Sherlock was getting the help he needed. Whoever was behind the call seemed to be at least as concerned about the so-called consulting detective as Greg was himself. 

But through that interaction, he had also just learned a lot more about the identity of mystery man. If he had the authority to sign Sherlock into rehab, he was a family member. A guardian. He sounded too young to be his father… so maybe a brother? A cousin? Something to test during the next call, at the very least. He could simply look it up, yes, but where was the fun in that?


	5. Chapter 5

The next call came two weeks later, when Greg least expected it. He had taken off early at work for once, decided to have dinner all on his own, quiet and settled. Somehow he was aware that he looked a bit sad when seen from the outside, alone at the pub like that, but he had chosen one of his less frequented haunts on purpose, so that he wouldn’t run into anyone familiar by accident. With some good food and another pint, he had settled into a booth at the back, absentmindedly scrolling through some news sites on his phone, as the screen suddenly switched and a certain contact name was displayed.

“Lestrade,” he answered the phone.

“Good evening, detective inspector,” he heard the familiar voice say. It was once again very quiet in the background, where the man was calling from.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes,” Greg replied and couldn’t help but smirk at the intake of breath on the other side.

“Never try to keep a detective in the dark, is it?” the man said and to Greg’s surprise it sounded more amused than annoyed. “Was it that I was able to push Sherlock into rehab?”

“That, combined with the fact that you’re obviously very interested in his well-being.”

“Very good,” Mr. Holmes commended him. “Indeed, he is a burden I must bear.”

Greg smiled to himself, got comfortable in his seat and took a sip of his pint.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your voice?”

Mr. Holmes cleared his throat once. “I thought it prudent to inform you of Sherlock’s progress. Much rests on his cooperation with you, and he very much regrets his actions.”

“That’s nice. But the whole matter isn’t up to me anymore. It was, in a way, but then he pulled that stunt. We’ve lost the goodwill.”

“So you, personally, would allow him back?”

“Think I would. He seems like a good man. I know drugs change people… I’ve seen a lot of shit related to them. But everyone deserves a second chance. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That is… thank you very much, detective inspector,” Greg head the other say, and his voice sounded immediately a lot lighter. It was clear that the man didn’t have much experience with people, who forgave Sherlock for what he did. Greg could understand that – but he also knew that there was something to Sherlock that was worth making an effort for.

“Call me Greg,” he said, before he could think about it. “I’m detective inspector enough during the day.”

“Very well… Greg.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

There was a bit of silence between them, but the connection was still there. Greg took a deep breath.

“Who are you, really?” he asked cautiously.

He heard a short chuckle at the other end of the line. “There aren’t many options in Sherlock’s family tree. If you look it up, you should find me quickly.”

“I’d rather you tell me yourself. Although I must admit I’m rather looking forward to your anonymous calls. Handsome stranger with a sexy voice.”

“Greg…”

“What?”

“Good night.”


	6. Chapter 6

Greg stared at his phone. He knew there was about a zero percent chance his message would go through, but the occasion was too good to leave it at that. He sat at his desk, alone in his office, smiling at no one but himself as he composed the text.

[Got the super to okay Sherlock again. He’s going to have to stick to a few guidelines, which I’m gonna hammer into him, though. The fact that he’s in rehab helped a lot. Thanks for that.]

So. Sent. Greg put his mobile face down onto the desk. He had actual work to, apart from watching the screen. The message would probably end up in limbo anyway. But just as he reached for his laptop, the phone vibrated.

“Good day, Mr. Holmes,” Greg said with a smile in his voice. “Got my text, then?”

“Yes, I did,” Mr. Holmes answered. This time the background was livelier. It almost sounded like a party.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Good heavens, no. Dreadful event,” Mr. Holmes said with a sigh. Greg could hear footsteps on stone and then it was quieter. “In fact I’ll pretend you are an emergency call and will excuse myself soon.”

“Always glad to be of service.”

Greg heard the raised eyebrow and the smirk in the next sentence — he didn’t need to see it.

“Aren’t you just?”

“That’s me. Your helpful policeman,” Greg quipped. He didn’t know why it felt so good to talk to the man, but in that moment he felt filled up with joy. It was a good feeling — one he hadn’t had the chance to experience often lately.

“Thank you for speaking up for Sherlock,” Mr. Holmes said then, in a slightly more serious tone, but it was still warm. “Your support means a lot.”

“I’ve not done much.”

“On the contrary, dear Detective Inspector. I have often tried to smoothe over the waves that Sherlock leaves behind, but a voice from above is seldomly welcomed. One from the own ranks however is trusted.”

“From above, huh?”

“You haven’t looked into me yet?”

Greg shrugged, before he realised that Mr. Holmes couldn’t see him. “No, I haven’t. Not that I’m not interested, but…”

“... you enjoy the mystery?” Mr. Holmes mused.

“Apparently I do.”

He heard the other hum thoughtfully. “It won’t be a secret for much longer. Sherlock will be back in a week, and he’ll warn you off me. There’s a high chance he’ll tell you my identity in the process. I can only…” his voice trailed off, sounding unsure for the first time in all their conversations.

“You can only…?” Greg asked.

“I can only hope he won’t succeed… Greg,” he heard Mr. Holmes say quietly — might he think even shyly?

“So you haven’t forgotten my name after all, handsome?”

“You have nothing to base that description on,” Mr. Holmes said with a slight waver to his voice.

“I know Sherlock looks handsome, in his own way. I’m figuring if you’re his brother or cousin, you’ll have the same genetics.”

“... I look nothing like him, I’m afraid.”

Greg swallowed. Mr. Holmes hadn’t ended the call after the first attempt at flirting, like the last time. That was a good sign, right? As little contact as they had yet, he felt himself strangely drawn to this mystery man.

“Good thing I’ve already fallen for your voice, then. The rest will probably follow.”

“You’re nothing like your file says…” Mr. Holmes almost whispered.

“What? Doesn’t say that I’m attracted to mysterious strangers with velvet voices? Gotta get that fixed.”

He heard Mr. Holmes laugh on the other end of the line, his voice a bit quieter, probably while he held the mobile away from his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“Now that is probably in my file.”

“Indeed. It’s the caption to your picture.”

Greg smiled. “Hope they got a good one.”

“It’s passable, as far as I can tell,” Mr. Holmes responded with clear mirth in his voice.

“Tell your spies to ask me to pose when they snap the next one.”

“I shall.”

There was a slight pause, and Greg heard someone talk muffled in the background.

“I need to go,” Mr. Holmes said. “I will let you know when Sherlock is released.”

“Early warning. Got it. Have a good night, Mr. Holmes.”

“You too… Greg.”


	7. Chapter 7

Greg only barely resisted texting the contact, which had now changed to ‘Mr. Holmes’ in his phone. Often had he glanced at it during the week, but refrained from actually sending a message. There really was no reason to. There were no updates regarding Sherlock… and he figured that Mr. Holmes wasn’t the type to text nonsense back and forth. In fact he had a feeling he wasn’t the type to text at all. Though he had seemed rather playful during their last call. Had he been drunk? He had been at a party… 

On the morning that Sherlock was released, he was almost bursting from nervous energy, awaiting a call any second. As his phone actually rang, he almost dropped it.

“Good morning,” Mr. Holmes said. “I’m calling to inform you that Sherlock is on his way back to London. He knows that he can contact you… and will probably do so soon.”

“Good morning to you too. Well, at least my day won’t be boring,” Greg mused.

“You really should have more than a single coffee to fortify yourself properly. Sherlock can be exhausting after rehab.”

“How do you…?”

Mr. Holmes chuckled. “Can’t tell you, I’m afraid. Though I found your obvious anxiety this morning quite endearing to watch.”

Greg actually blushed and looked around the corridor of the Yard, where he was standing. His eye caught a surveillance camera at the end of it. Of course the whole Yard was always monitored. He winked towards it.

“Greg…” Mr. Holmes said immediately. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Holmes took a deep breath. “Sherlock is in a vengeful mood. He’ll tell you many truths about me. In fact I called to say goodbye.”

“Why goodbye?” Greg asked, and felt his breath catch.

“I’m assuming you’ll want to cut off any contact after his reveals, and I won’t blame you. In fact, it’s the usual course—”

“Bullshit. What could he possibly tell me that would make me want to do that? Unless you’re a serial killer or something. You’re not a serial killer… are you?”

“Decidedly not. But… well, you’ll see.”

Now Greg took a deep breath. “If you think it’s over anyway, there’s no harm in telling me your name?”

“You’re impossible,” Mr. Holmes said with a sad laugh.

“We’ve established that already.”

Greg waited until Mr. Holmes had deliberated, listening to his breaths. At least he was thinking about it. Maybe the attraction wasn’t just one-sided…

“Mycroft. It’s Mycroft Holmes. You may now tell me that my parents had a flair for weird names.”

“Nonsense. I was going to tell you that it suits you. Your voice, that is. Mycroft.”

Greg heard an intake of breath as he said Mycroft’s name, and decided that it was a sound he liked very much, so he said it again.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes?” the other asked, his voice quieter, timid, warmer. It felt like a glass wall between them had been removed. Like he could feel Mycroft’s breath as he talked, and at the thought a shiver ran down Greg’s back. What was it about the man that made his heart ache ever so slightly?

“Thank you,” Greg said just as warmly.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Thank you anyway. I’ll call you after Sherlock has teared the Yard apart.”

He heard a soft huff of laughter on the other end. Then a pause. “No, you won’t.”

The connection cut immediately. Greg stared at the screen, his feelings all screwed up.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello there, Mr. Evil Mastermind,” Greg said with a laugh in his voice. “Toppled any small countries lately? Tormented some cute animals?”

“Hello Greg,” Mycroft said slowly. “You called.”

“Evidently.”

There was a slight pause. “Most small countries remain intact, and my cat seems to be in excellent health.”

“Your cat?” Greg asked with no small surprise. Such a personal bit of information from the man, who hadn’t even wanted to give his name a month ago.

“Yes. Though Minerva listens to ‘her ladyship’ rather than ‘cat’.”

“Mycroft, you sound rather nervous. You’re trying to distract me with your ladyship,” Greg said and leaned back on his couch. He had wanted a quiet, private moment to call the other, and waited until he’d gone home for the day.

“Sherlock made sure to pick a venue with ample surveillance to tell you off.”

Greg hummed. “So you’ve heard everything? I figured as much.”

“And you’re calling… despite…”

“Mycroft, look. I have two siblings. Sherlock might be a bit more vicious than them, but I’m not going to listen to the ramblings of a spiteful younger brother without knowing the other side. And so far you’ve frankly been nothing but caring and delightful.”

Mycroft sucked in a breath that sounded like half a sob. He didn’t respond immediately.

“Not what you expected, then? I’ll listen to Sherlock when he talks about crimes. The rest I can judge myself,” Greg continued. “And I’m not going to end this friendship just because someone threw some random accusations my way.”

“Friendship?”

“Well, I consider it to be one. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t… mind.”

“Brilliant. Now that we’re friends I’m going to text you every bit of nonsense that pops into my head. This is your only warning.”

Mycroft laughed softly, relief evident. “So it’s that easy? I fretted over nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say that. The fact that you fretted at all shows me that you’d like our association to continue, and that makes me very happy,” Greg admitted. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Indeed. I’m truly amazed. Is everything with you this uncomplicated?”

“Not everything has to be complicated. I just like talking to you.”

Mycroft huffed. “Then you’re on a very short list. It’s about one person long.”

“Then it’s even better. I get all your nice conversations to myself,” Greg said and laughed.

“God, we shall never meet. If you take one look at me the spell will be broken.”

“Now I know you’re brothers. Some sort of tragic drama gene.”

“Good night you impossible man,” Mycroft said warmly.

“Good night, Mycroft,” Greg responded, and for the first time he was the one to cut the connection, after Mycroft seemed to be unwilling after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Greg grinned to himself as he took a sip of his coffee. He had woken up early, somehow full of energy, and he hadn’t had as much time to have a leisurely breakfast before work in a long time. He knew this wouldn’t last, so he’d enjoy it while it did. His phone lay on the counter next to him and he eyed it curiously as he mulled last night’s conversation over in his head. Friends. He could live with that. Very well.

[Good morning, evil mastermind.]

He had barely put the phone down, before it pinged.

(Good morning, Greg. I trust you’re well rested?)

[Very. How is her ladyship?]

(A bit miffed at the fact that I had to leave her at 4am, but I promised to bring her some salmon tonight.)

[Wouldn’t want her ladyship to be miffed.]

(Perish the thought.)

Greg laughed softly and drained the last of his coffee, put the mug in the sink and reached for his shoes. As he pulled them on he thought about how nice it was to have someone to message like that in morning. Apparently Mycroft didn’t mind, seeing how quickly he responded. The possibility that he had waited anxiously for Greg to text him first made a curious warm feeling settle in his chest. It’s funny how quickly you can take to someone who you’ve never even seen.

[What got you out of bed so damn early?] 

Greg texted as he started walking towards the Yard. He had purposely chosen his residence near his office, even though he could only afford small rooms in central London. Being able to walk to his work was a luxury he didn’t want to part with. The streets around him were alive with countless other people in suits, rushing to their offices. He wondered if he had already seen Mycroft in passing, and just didn’t know it. He seemed like the type to wear suits to work.

(It should be on the news.)

The news sites were quickly consulted and the headline most everywhere was a large traffic accident in North London. A bus, a lorry, several cars. Miraculously no one had died, but the damage to the vehicles and some surrounding businesses was substantial.

[Alright. You’re either a police officer, a first responder, a journalist, or work in one of the shops around there.]

(All very good guesses, but none is correct. I occupy a minor position in the ministry of transport.)

Minor my ass. Greg didn’t believe a word.

[Sure thing, voice from above.]

(It is my official job title.)

Greg didn’t doubt that it was. Maybe Mycroft really had been called because of the crash. Maybe it hadn’t been a mere accident. He snickered to himself. Now he knew the man’s name, relation to Sherlock and his job title – hell he even knew his cat’s name – but it felt like he knew nothing at all. And somehow that thrilled him. He found that he liked this man, this Mycroft, very much, and the little games that he played only helped everything along. Greg had a feeling that he was supposed to be annoyed by all this secrecy, but in that moment he didn’t care one bit.

[Alright, Mr. Minor Position.]

(In retrospect, I do prefer Mr. Evil Mastermind.)

[Let’s shorten it to Mycroft, and let the evil mastermind be implied, shall we?]

(We shall. Have a productive day.)

The last message arrived just as Greg walked up the steps to the Yard. He didn’t ask how Mycroft knew, just tipped his imaginary hat and disappeared into the building.


	10. Chapter 10

“Can you believe Sherlock actually behaved himself today? He didn’t even rise to my constable’s taunts,” Greg said as he threw his jacket over his couch. “I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“My brother can be amiable if it suits him. The opportunity to work with you seems to be incentive enough, which is a rare wonder,” Mycroft responded and just then Greg heard a knock in the background. “Excuse me for a second.”

The conversation was muffled, most probably by a hand over the microphone. Greg didn’t listen too closely… at least he tried to. It took only a minute.

“Apologies,” Mycroft said as he picked up the call again.

“It’s fine. Do you have to return to work? It’s already nine, you know.”

“No, no. In fact a meeting was just cancelled. I find myself with a free evening for once.”

“No plans?” Greg asked.

“Not as such. There’s always work to do, but nothing pressing.”

“So you can go have fun.”

Mycroft seemed to put on his best serious voice. “I don’t do fun.”

“Isn’t this fun? Talking to me?”

“So it is…” Mycroft mused. “I stand corrected.”

Greg was sad that Mycroft couldn’t see his self-satisfied smile. “I’m glad, because it’s fun for me too. Believe me when I say that I was looking forward to calling you tonight?” 

“Hm… I want to believe you,” Mycroft said slowly.

“Come on. The fact that I’m willingly engaging with you should clue you in.”

“It’s just so… unusual. It might be the fact that you haven’t met me. You wouldn’t be so eager then.”

There was a sadness in Mycroft’s voice that immediately weighed heavy on Greg’s soul. He could’ve said empty words, refuted Mycroft’s opinion, but the reality was that he didn’t know. He had a feeling that he’d get along great with the man beyond the phone, but he wasn’t one to do empty promises. Still, he couldn’t let it go completely.

“You can’t know that,” he said softly. “But let’s leave it there.”

“Enjoy the moment, is it?”

Greg sighed. “Yes. Very much.”

They both were silent for a brief while. Then Mycroft cleared his throat. “Can I call you later, when I’m home? I…” his voice faltered for a moment. “I think I could use some more… fun.”

Greg’s grin couldn’t be any wider. “Of course, handsome. Call me anytime you like.”

“You really shouldn’t say that.”

“Why?”

“I might do it.”

“Hmm… I’m counting on it. Now get yourself home and enjoy your free time.”

He heard Mycroft shuffle in his seat. He was obviously hesitating. Greg kept very still.

“If anyone should call the other handsome, it should be me saying it. At least I have evidence.”

Greg sucked in a sharp breath. Had he just–

“Talk to you later, impossible man,” Mycroft said and immediately cut the call.


	11. Chapter 11

It was quite late when Greg’s phone rang – almost eleven. Two hours he had waited for Mycroft to make the call. Two hours of restless wondering. So far the man had deflected all attempts at good-natured flirting, and at first Greg had just thrown them out to bring a bit of humour into the conversation. Lately, though, he found himself genuinely in the evil mastermind with the spoiled cat. And then that last exchange... 

Greg had never thought himself particularly attractive. Sure, he was in good shape for his age. The grey in his hair actually suited him and he liked his eyes, but he had never found himself truly sexy. But for Mycroft to call him handsome… his heart was beating faster just thinking about it.

Truth was he had no idea what made the other tick. Was he even interested in men? It looked like it. Or had it just been a compliment? No… the way Mycroft had basically fled the scene of his crime showed a certain level of embarrassment. But now the phone was ringing again and Greg picked up with some hope in his heart.

“Good evening, Mycroft,” he said.

“Hello, Greg,” Mycroft responded. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I couldn’t refrain from having a decent dinner in peace. There’s often precious little time for that.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I told you that you can call me anytime. That still stands. I’m happy you had a chance to relax. Seems like you work quite a bit. Well, Sherlock did call you the British Government.”

“A gross overstatement. But I am quite occupied by my work, yes. I don’t mind too much. There’s a certain sense of pride that comes with it,” Mycroft said, and Greg wondered if it was a crinkling cushion he heard in the background. He hoped Mycroft was comfortable.

“I get that. I’m proud of my work at the Yard, too,” Greg replied.

“You have every right to.”

“Did you have a good look at my file then, Mr. Minor Position?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Noted.”

Greg heard Mycroft chuckle on the other end of the line. “Usually people can’t cope with the mystery. With the fact that I don’t tell anyone about myself… and that I seem to know most things already. You, on the other hand, seem rather unimpressed.”

“It’s not like I don’t care. I do. But I’m rather more intrigued than frightened… if that makes sense. You don’t seem like a bad person.”

Mycroft sighed deeply. “Practicality is seen as coldness. Quick decision making is perceived as ruthless. Deductions are arrogant.”

“Sherlock seemed like that to me, at first. But he is neither cold nor ruthless. A bit arrogant, yes, but he means well, and he can be decent. It feels like he’d rather punch first, before he gets hurt,” Greg said. “Everyone has different ways to cope. He lashes out, you retreat before the first confrontation can even happen.”

“You have significant insight,” Mycroft mused.

“Detective, remember? I’m actually worth my money, even without Sherlock. I may not be quite as fast, but I can hold my own.”

“It was meant as a compliment. I have no doubt you’d perform just as well without my brother,” Mycroft said quickly. “And I think he sees that too. That’s why he wants to work with you above anyone else.”

“Stop with the praises. It’s going to my head,” Greg said with a laugh and let himself fall over on the bed, now staring at the ceiling.

“I’m only telling you the truth. You’re a capable man,” Mycroft said.

“You forgot good looking.”

“You’re a capable, handsome man.”

Greg’s breath hitched slightly. “Do you really think that?”

“One would have to be blind to escape your charm. You are… how do you say? Easy on the eyes,” Mycroft said, his voice a bit quieter, more timid.

“I’m sure we’d make a great pair. You, extraordinarily handsome, me, regular handsome.”

“I’d really hate to disappoint you… but if you find men like Sherlock attractive, you won’t find me–”

“Bullshit,” Greg said quickly. “I bet you’re lovely. And I’m taking that statement about Sherlock back. He’s undeniably attractive, but not to me. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, why should I worry? You’re a free man, Greg,” Mycroft said immediately.

“A free man, who’s now fallen for the voice of a stranger,” Greg responded. “A smart, handsome stranger.”

“You’ll have to stop that. It’s bad enough that I’m indulging in this behaviour, and if you continue I might even start to enjoy it.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Greg, we can’t meet. Neither of us should get their hopes up.”

“Why can’t we meet?” Greg asked.

“Because I’m nothing like the man you’re talking with on the phone. I’m nothing like any imagination you may have. I’m neither funny, nor witty and I’m certainly not someone to flirt with. This Mycroft only exists during our calls.”

“Mycroft, I–”

“Please, Greg,” Mycroft cut him off. “You will be severely disappointed. And I… I couldn’t cope with that. It might be a selfish wish, but let me enjoy this for what it is, please.”

Greg took a deep breath. He wanted nothing but their association to continue. If that was what it would take, then fine.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. These calls already make me so happy, I’d just drop dead from excitement if we ever met, so this is probably for the best.”

He heard Mycroft laugh, but it felt like it was masking a deeper emotion. “Wouldn’t want the Yard’s most stellar inspector to drop dead, would we?”

Greg sighed. “Definitely not.”

They shared a moment of synchronised, deep breaths, then Mycroft spoke again.

“Good night, then, Greg. And thank you.”

“Good night, Mycroft. Sweet dreams.”


	12. Chapter 12

[Is it too early to call? I’m taking a sick day and am already bored.]

(Of course not. I’m just getting ready to leave, though, so I might not have a lot of time.)

[If it’s inconvenient we don’t have to talk.]

About ten seconds later Greg’s phone rang. He stared at it with a dopey smile and sank back into bed before accepting the call.

“Good morning, Mycroft,” he said. “Thank you for taking a few minutes.”

“I find my day much improved when I hear your voice, so you can consider this selfish, if you like.”

Greg laughed. “Noted. And likewise.”

“I hope you’re not feeling too bad…” Mycroft said and Greg heard a few shuffling noises on the other end, cloth being handled and then a soft clunk. “Excuse me… I’ve put you on speaker. I do have to dress.”

Greg sucked in a sharp breath at the mental image of being on a call with a half-dressed man. His brain provided some vague imagery, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he wanted. Mycroft had said they wouldn’t be able to meet, but a bit of information would be allowed, surely?

“I feel a tad drained. It’s just a mild flu, but I need to rest properly… otherwise I’ll carry a cough for weeks.”

“Stay in bed, then. You can… text me if you feel too bored,” Mycroft responded, his voice further away, but still clear. Greg could hear him pull on his clothes despite the distance… the background was eerily silent.

“So what are you wearing?”

“Greg…”

“Hey! You can conveniently watch me through every camera in the city. I don’t have that luxury, so cut a man some slack. I haven’t even looked into you yet, even though you’re probably in the Yard’s system.”

“With a dreadful picture,” Mycroft added. “You’ll do good not to look at it.”

“I promise I won’t. So give me a reward.”

Mycroft huffed. “Telling you what I’m wearing is a reward?”

“Well, my imagination can’t decide if you’re some sort of posh hipster,” Greg said, very aware that he had just taunted the other… and by the intake of breath he knew he had succeeded.

“Posh… hipster?” Mycroft asked and suddenly his voice was close to the phone again. “Excuse me?”

“Can’t blame me. I literally have nothing to go on here,” Greg said, barely able to keep himself from laughing.

“I see what you’re doing, but I’m going to indulge you,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “This once.”

“You’re too good to me, darling,” Greg responded, endearment out in the open before he could stop himself. It had felt so natural. Mycroft didn’t comment on it, but there was a slight hitch in his voice as he continued talking.

“I’m definitely not a hipster,” Mycroft said then, and continued a bit more settled. “Not that it will do you any good, but I’m wearing a two piece, dove-grey suit with a white shirt and a light-blue tie.”

“Hm… cufflinks?”

“Of course. Square, silver.”

“Pocket-watch?”

“Not with the two piece. A regular, silver wristwatch.”

“Your shoes?”

“Black, polished leather.”

Greg hummed contently as the image formed in his head. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a face to put to it. As it was, it was good enough. More than good.

“A handsome man in a handsome suit.”

“Greg… may I ask you a question?”

Greg frowned at the hesitant tone, and at Mycroft’s voice suddenly so close, as he had evidently picked up the phone again.

“Of course.”

“It’s not a very decent question.”

“Then it’s even better,” Greg answered, his heart skipping a beat. He had already noticed an increase in Mycroft’s boldness, after he had agreed to not meeting the man. Maybe this layer of security made him feel more courageous.

“Are you… attracted to men in suits?”

Greg paused for a moment, then started laughing. “What gave me away?”

“You sounded rather breathless asking for the additional details,” Mycroft explained.

“I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s true that there’s something incredibly beautiful in how a well-tailored suits hugs a body just so,” he said, and decided to be a bit bolder himself. “I also enjoy unwrapping my presents, and with that many layers, it’s even more of a treat.”

“Not uncomfortable, as such. Just noting that you’re incredibly frank.”

“Enough lies and deceit at work. Also I don’t believe in holding back. Too old for that.”

Mycroft hummed. “Then you might be interested in knowing that all my suits are bespoke.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just came on to me through your sartorial choices.”

“Just sharing my love of fine tailoring with a friend,” Mycroft said.

“Right…”

“Unfortunately I have to leave. Important meetings, and all that.”

“Alright. Say hello to the Queen for me,” Greg mused. “I’ll have the thoughts of your suit to keep me company for today.”

“Rest well, impossible man,” Mycroft said warmly.

“Talk to you later, Mycroft.”


	13. Chapter 13

Greg woke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool. Everything was dampened and he couldn’t even tell what time it was. His body was sweaty and his throat parched. The doorbell rang again.

“To hell with that…” he mumbled and buried himself in his blanket. Whoever it was, he was not welcoming them like this.

Then his bedroom door opened. Despite his state, Greg’s instincts kicked in and he threw himself to the floor immediately.

“I’m flattered. But that’s really not necessary, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, still standing in the doorway.

“You bloody wanker!”

“Language. If my brother could hear you now–”

“He’d tell you to go the fuck to hell!”

Greg untangled himself from his sheet with no help from the consulting detective.

“Likely not in those words. Your people didn’t let me into the Yard. I was told you were sick and came to see if it was true.”

Greg put his face in both hands. “I’m sick, as you can see. Now leave me to sleep in peace.”

Sherlock took a few steps forward and held out a hand. Greg took it and pulled himself upwards. He was aware that he was wearing only a ratty t-shirt, but he figured that Sherlock didn’t deserve anything better, seeing that he had actually broken into his flat.

“You’ve continued your association with my brother,” he said. “How curious.”

“How do you know?” Greg asked.

“He hasn’t tried to talk to me once, since I’ve been back. His silence is much more suspicious than his meddling. He seems occupied. I think you’re occupying him.”

“And you’re here to warn me off.”

“Gods no,” Sherlock replied. “If you want to run into the open knife, be my guest… You’re old enough to make your own mistakes. I’m just going to say that he’ll never let you close enough. He lets no one close, not even me, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“With all due respect, Sherlock, thank you for your input, but you can keep it. I’m just beginning to make a new friend.”

“Mycroft doesn’t do friends.”

“He also doesn’t do fun, but we’re having lots of it. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “The one time I’m being nice to you…”

Greg had to smile. “I appreciate the gesture, I really do. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your sudden onset of altruism.”

—

After Sherlock had disappeared again, Greg rolled over his bed, suddenly unable to sleep. He wasn’t about to let Sherlock warn him off the best thing that had happened to him in years. Mycroft seemed to be happy about the situation too. And that was enough for now.

[The next time your brother breaks into my flat, I’m going to shoot him.]

The answer came so quickly that Greg barely had time to take a sip of water.

(Oh dear god. What has he done this time?)

[Nothing bad in itself. But I don’t appreciate being woken up by strange men in my bedroom.]

This time the answer took a bit longer.

(I thought you were someone to appreciate mysterious strangers.)

[Not all of them. Just the one. Very important distinction.]

(So it is. Are you rested?)

[Still feel like my head is splitting. Might just go back to sleep.]

(A wise decision.)

Greg smiled at his phone and sunk back into the pillow. Just as he had almost drifted off, the phone pinged again.

(Please let me know how you feel when you wake up.)


	14. Chapter 14

Greg woke again when it was already dark. At least his head felt a lot better. He still wasn’t over whatever virus had settled in his body, but it was time to behave like a normal person again. He took a quick shower and settled on his couch, a coke in hand. Even though he craved a beer, it probably wasn’t a good idea to drink on an empty stomach like that. With a clearer head he reached for his phone and looked at the last message again with a smile.

[I’m back with the living. Feeling much better.]

For once the response didn’t come quickly. Greg was a bit disappointed, but he reminded himself that Mycroft had a life away from his phone, and it was already ten in the evening, after all. It was funny how fast he had gotten used to the contact. He sunk back into the cushions and took another sip of his drink, briefly contemplated turning on the telly, but he didn’t really feel like it. He sent a quick email to the Yard, telling them he’d take another day off tomorrow. Then his phone rang.

“Hello Greg,” he heard Mycroft say, and immediately relaxed.

“Good evening, Mycroft. I hope you’re not at work anymore.”

“Not tonight, no. I’ve actually just settled into bed… I have a very early morning tomorrow.”

“Sorry to disturb you, then…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mycroft admonished him. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t have called.”

“That’s true. I’m glad.”

“Mhmm… me too.”

A few weeks ago he hadn’t even known Mycroft’s name, and now they were whispering to each other on the phone like teenager’s in love. Greg knew the exact feeling, only it had been very, very long since he had last experienced it. It felt a bit early, but that certain way his chest was hurting and his body grew warm when he was talking to Mycroft were very clear indications. Huh. So, a crush on someone he had never even seen? It wasn’t the worst thing.

“You know I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said this morning,” Mycroft admitted after they had sat in silence for a while. “Are suits really that attractive? I’ve been wearing them for… forever, and I’ve never found them particularly… arousing.”

Greg settled deeper into his cushions. “I guess it depends on the person wearing them, but generally yes. For me at least. They exude a certain aura of competence and power that I find rather… attractive, yes.”

“I can see that, at least.”

“Also the expensive cloth is so nice under your fingers. And when you put your hand under the jacket, on the shirt, warmed by body heat…”

Somehow he heard the smallest gasp from the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry if I–”

“No, no,” Mycroft quickly said. “It’s… fine. All fine.”

Greg smiled to himself. “I’ll be honest with you. I… I like you a lot, Mycroft. We’ve only been talking for a few weeks, but… yeah.”

“Greg…”

“I really hope that didn’t scare you off.”

“It’s just… unexpected. Not unwelcome. But you know that–”

Greg sighed. “I can’t help it. What I know of you is amazing.”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to sigh. Greg’s heart sank. If the other now decided to break this off, he’d–

“Then stop worrying and tell me what you’d like to do to my suit…”

Greg felt a rush of heat going through his body – a tingling that reached out into his fingertips and escaped his mouth as tiny moan. He swallowed once and shifted in his seat.

“I’d really like to hold you. Just hold you close. Run my hands over your shoulders… bury my face in face in your neck… just breathe in. Feel that you’re real,” Greg said slowly, and felt the longing rise up in his chest.

“I am real,” Mycroft whispered.

“I know,” Greg breathed. “I know that, but…”

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“It’s fine. You have your reasons. Still, just so I’ve said it again… I really don’t think that anything about you would scare me off. Not even your brother.”

Mycroft laughed softly. “Maybe not… but I still don’t feel comfortable…”

“All in due time, darling. All in due time.”


	15. Chapter 15

It turned out to be in due time, indeed. The next day Mycroft informed him that he had to leave the country for two weeks, during which he’d be reduced to text messages. After Greg pleaded with him, Mycroft told him he had to go to South Korea, but didn’t tell him why.

Greg had feared that their contact would grow sparse, but Mycroft surprised him by giving him regular updates on his wellbeing, as well as asking about Greg’s days. He felt them both grow closer in a meaningful way. He learned details about Mycroft’s personality, some of his likes and dislikes. And contrary to Mycroft’s fears, the more he knew about the man, the more he adored him. The way he talked about how much he enjoyed the food. The way he pined for his cat. The way Greg would always receive a ‘Good Morning’ message, despite the time zone difference. Forget cold and ruthless… the man was caring and attentive. Greg couldn’t believe his good fortune. At least it was easier to quell the longing in his heart, knowing that the man wasn’t in the same city.

One night he caught himself staring at the news, trying to catch Mycroft in the footage of the negotiations between North and South Korea, but then he quickly switched the channel. He had promised not to look – and had kept that promise so far. His imagination was confused… but he resolved to keep it that way. And it wasn’t like Mycroft was present at the negotiations anyway. Or was he? Ministry of Transport, huh?

And then, finally, Mycroft had returned home. Greg almost burst from happiness as his phone rang on a Sunday morning, and the name ‘Mycroft Holmes’ appeared on screen.

“Hello Greg,” Mycroft said warmly.

“Hello yourself, darling. God, I’ve missed your voice so much. Talk to me.”

Mycroft laughed immediately. “I’ve missed you too, my dear.” 

They had started using endearments in texts, but Greg almost hadn’t believed that Mycroft would carry on when they were talking again. When he did, Greg suddenly felt like a swooning Victorian heroine. After those two weeks – even though they had only talked through text messages – they were basically dating, and while none of them had asked the other, it had happened more or less naturally on its own.

“It’s so good to hear you again. Did you just arrive?”

“Five hours ago. We had a debriefing, and I’ve actually got today and tomorrow off, so I’ll be sleeping most of the day. I feel absolutely exhausted.”

“In bed already, then?”

“About to, yes. I know you’re supposed to force your body to settle into a normal sleeping pattern, but I’m getting too old to deal with jetlag that way. I’m tired. I will sleep.”

“Thank you for calling despite that,” Greg said softly.

“Once again it’s entirely selfish.”

Greg could hear some shuffling in the background, and with a start he realised that Mycroft was handling clothes…

“Are you undressing?” he asked, his breath hitching.

“I’m not going to sleep in my suit.”

“And you couldn’t have called me after?”

“I thought you might appreciate it, even though you can’t see anything,” Mycroft said, and the smirk was audible.

“I do. Very much,” Greg said with a heavy voice. “You know the messages we exchanged that one night… I… that is… are you still amenable?”

He heard Mycroft swallow. “I think I am, yes. In fact I’d very much like that. I… I missed your voice terribly.”

Greg had long turned back to his bedroom and laid down on his bed. This early on a Sunday morning, he was only dressed in a t-shirt, and some boxers, which were already tenting due to his excitement. They were really going to… He had to take a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“What are you wearing now?” Greg asked after the other end had gone very quiet.

“...nothing,” Mycroft said.

“Fuck,” Greg replied and reached down to squeeze himself. “Mycroft…”

In response he only heard a deep moan, and by the sound of it, he was pretty sure that Mycroft had already taken himself in hand. It seemed like he was holding nothing back. Soon he was panting into the phone, broken gasps arriving directly in Greg’s ear, sweeter than anything he’d ever heard.

“Oh god… I can’t believe I…” Mycroft whispered. “Greg… Talk to me, please…”

“You sound fucking amazing. The way your voice is… Ahhh…”

Greg had mimicked Mycroft’s enthusiasm and was stroking himself hard, breathlessly moaning into the phone. He almost wanted to put it on speaker, but he needed to hear Mycroft as close as possible. Every gasp, every groan only let the fire in his body grow, and made him respond with equal sounds.

“Greg, I can’t… I… Oh fuck…”

Mycroft practically shouted his release, repeating Greg’s name over and over again, like a chant. It felt so dirty, doing this over the phone, so wrong and yet so right. Hearing Mycroft curse was a treat in itself, and Greg rode out the waves of pleasure with him, feeling them deep inside his bones, even before he was coming himself. He had always been silent, so as he came, he groaned through his teeth, his whole body tensing, before the air left him in one big rush and he sank boneless into his mattress.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” Mycroft breathed after they had calmed down.

“It’s… that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I find that it is, yes. I also find something else quite clearly now and I am truly devastated by it.”

“Mycroft?” Greg asked, his heart clenching, bracing.

“I really am very fond of you, Greg Lestrade. Too fond. I find myself unable to let you go, but I can’t bring myself to meet you either. I’m too afraid you will hate what you see and leave forever. And that can’t happen. It can’t.”

“It won’t,” Greg said. “I promise you it won’t.”

“We can’t know that for sure, and if there’s even a small chance, I can’t take it.”

“So I was right. You run away before any confrontation can even happen.”

“It’s the only way to protect my heart,” Mycroft said with a sigh.

“I would keep it safe. Always.”

Mycroft drew in a deep breath. “I want to believe you. I really do.”

“Nothing is ever certain in this world. Sometimes you have to take the jump.

“I am the one they call when they need certainty. It is my job to reassure and manage. I am the one who holds all the strings. Only this… this I can’t control. And it scares me,” Mycroft admitted in a small voice. “I can’t control your actions, and least of all my own heart. You have taken residence in it, you impossible man. And I find myself unable to evict you.”

“Then you leave me no choice. Remember my favourite pub, which I told you about last week?”

Mycroft hesitated, then answered “Yes.”

“I’ll be in the pub, at night. Every night. Until you join me. And in the meantime I won’t contact you again. I can’t just talk to you on the phone anymore… I want this to work out between us, physically. If you feel a fraction of what I’m feeling, then you’ll come to me. I promise I will love you… no matter how you look.”

“Greg… You can’t… Not like this…”

“Goodbye Mycroft. Talk to you soon.”

“Greg!”

With a heavy heart Greg ended the call.


	16. Chapter 16

On the fifth night Greg sighed into his glass, only to jump in surprise when Jimmy – the bartender – slapped a shot of whisky on the counter in front of him. He eyed the amber liquid, then looked up to catch Jimmy smile at him.

“Come on, you need one,” he said. “It’s on the house.”

“Just take it, Greg,” a regular on the other end of the bar said. “Nothing like drowning your sorrow in alcohol.”

“I have to work tomorrow…”

“Bullshit,” Jimmy said. “It’s Saturday.”

“Ah… so it is.”

Almost one week since he’d slapped that ultimatum into Mycroft’s face. Almost one week since the worst decision of his life. He wanted to cry, if it wouldn’t make him look so pathetic. Sherlock had been right. Mycroft didn’t let anyone close. Why had he thought he’d be any different? Just because he loved the man? His heart ached so terribly that it almost physically crippled him. He was no good at work. Even Sherlock had avoided him in recent days, just glancing at him in pity. Greg didn’t think that he knew any specifics, but he had probably deduced that something had gone wrong. He was only glad that the man hadn’t started making fun of him. There was something decent in Sherlock after all.

Just then a woman came to stand next to him, attempted to sit down, but Greg quickly put his hand on the bar stool and turned to gave her a smile.

“I’m sorry darling. That seat’s taken…”

She shrugged and turned to find a seat at a table. “Suit yourself.”

“Mate, whoever you’re waiting for… they’re not coming,” someone from a booth behind him said. “You’ve been in that seat when I came in on Monday… and you’re still here.”

“What can I say? I’m a desperate optimist,” Greg said and downed the shot, slamming the small glass back down on the wood.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another message from Mycroft, asking him to reconsider. They had gotten increasingly desperate over the last two days. Greg wondered how long it would take until Mycroft didn’t even bother to contact him anymore. Until he figured that Greg wasn’t worth the effort. He looked at the screen.

(I beg you. Please call me, Greg. I need you.)

If you need me so much, I’m right here, Greg thought wistfully and reached for his pint again.

“I’m increasing my bet,” one of the women people in the booth said. “Twenty quid says she’s not coming.”

“He. It’s a he,” Greg said. “Not that it matters.”

“Alright. Twenty quid says he’s not coming,” she corrected herself.

“Twenty against that. I say he’ll show up,” one of her friends countered.

“No way,” another said. “It’s been almost a week. I’ll raise you thirty.”

Several other people joined in the betting pool as Greg laughed quietly to himself. Only one person was willing to bet on Mycroft showing up. He felt like the distribution reflected his own mind. He was dreading that this was the end, but there was one small light of hope still burning, refusing to give in. He had always been someone who couldn’t give up, and this proved it once again. He wondered how long he could hold out. Another week? Two?

“Jimmy, I need another,” he said and held out his pint.

“Sure thing, Greg.”

As Jimmy filled up the glass, Greg saw a shadow in the corner of his eye, hovering next to the bar stool. The usual sentence fell from his lips automatically, as it had so many times this week.

“Sorry, that seat’s taken…”

“I know. It’s mine.”

Greg’s eyes widened as he heard the familiar voice and was almost frozen in shock, so that he could turn only slowly. He laid eyes on a pair of oxfords, then dark grey suit trousers, wandering upwards to see that it was a three piece suit with a proper pocket watch chain on the waistcoat, and a purple tie. A slender body, long fingers, flexing nervously as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Then his gaze wandered even further and he locked eyes with Mycroft for the first time, only to be drawn in by the dark, stormy blue eyes immediately.

There was no mistake that this was Mycroft Holmes. Greg’s heart was racing so much it almost fell out of his chest.

“You bastard, why didn’t you tell me how gorgeous you are?”

“Greg, I–”

Mycroft couldn’t even start a sentence before Greg had jumped up, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him like a starving man. He was backed up against the bar, hands first clutching at the wood, body rigid, then he moved them to Greg’s shoulders and melted underneath him.

Only when they parted did Greg hear the cheers from the other patrons. He looked into a very red-faced Mycroft, who apparently couldn’t decide if he was more embarrassed or more happy. His shy smile was the most beautiful thing Greg had ever seen. And the clear evidence of both their approval was pressed together so closely that Greg had to force himself backwards as to not be banned from the pub forever, but he still kept holding both of Mycroft’s hands.

“You all owe me like 200 quid!” one man shouted in the background.

“What?” Mycroft asked, but Greg shook his head.

“Don’t mind them. You’re here. You’re really here.”

Mycroft squeezed his hands. “I’m sorry for putting you through this. I… I’m not used to…”

“I have absolutely no complaints. None. You’re perfect and you’re here.”

Mycroft sighed as his shoulders slumped and he finally relaxed. “You really think so? I know I’m not… well, Sherlock.”

“And praise the gods you aren’t. I love you. Only you.”

“Oh Greg… I love you too. I’m so sorry it took me so long…”

As they met in another kiss they could hear the people around them cheer and both smiled against the other’s lips.

“Let’s get out of here. We’ve given them enough of a show,” Greg whispered.

“Yes. Let’s. I plan to eat you up tonight,” Mycroft breathed in his ear. “I want to make up for every single one of my stupid decisions that made us delay this for even one minute.”

“I made you fall in love with me this way, so it wasn’t all bad.”

They held hands as they turned to leave to the applause of the pub.

“You’re holding your engagement party here, Greg!” Jimmy said as they were about to exit and Greg just grinned.

“Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else.”

Mycroft actually chuckled. As they closed the door behind them, the last thing they heard was a cheer as Jimmy called out a round on the house for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not evil enough to make you wait any longer. haha


	17. Chapter 17

They didn’t make it very far. As soon as they passed the first alleyway, Greg pulled Mycroft into the darkness of the night, then pressed him against the wall, both hands captured in his. Mycroft went willingly, his bones suddenly liquid, all his propriety forgotten. He stared at Greg as if he expected another kiss, but when the other dived in to gently bite his neck, he could barely suppress a moan. Greg pressed their bodies impossibly close together, licking the heated skin, one leg now between Mycroft’s, pressing upwards. He was rewarded with the sweetest gasp. Mycroft’s fingers flexed in his grasp and his hips strained against Greg’s body.

“Do you still think I would not approve of your looks?” Greg growled before he delivered another playful bite.

Mycroft could only shake his head, groaning his pleasure. “The evidence is irrefutable…” he said and pressed his own tigh into Greg’s erection.

“I’m sorry if this is too fast for you. Please tell me if it is. I just… I need you so badly….” Greg whispered.

“You can have me any way you like. Just not here. Do I really have to remind a policeman of that?”

Greg laughed and raised his head to look into Mycroft’s eyes, which were shining despite the darkness.

“My flat isn’t far. But I don’t know if I can take my hands off you until then.”

Mycroft pushed Greg away slightly. His expression turned into a lopsided smirk. “Race you,” he said and was gone.

“Oh you bastard…” Greg mumbled and was quickly in pursuit.

Of course Mycroft knew where he lived. And of course the man was so much quicker than Greg ever could be. As he reached his door, Mycroft was already opening it, then turned his head back with a smile.

“I won. What’s my reward?” he asked.

“No fair. If I had those long legs, I’d win too…”

“You should be glad that I have them,” Mycroft said as they stepped through the door together, Greg’s hands on his hips. “They will feel lovely wrapped around your body.”

“You utter tease…” Greg said with a laugh.

“Mhmm… my impossible man…” Mycroft said and turned the tables by backing Greg against the back of his couch, then over it, until he was all but lying on top of him. They shared another kiss, tongues clashing, hands roaming everywhere. Greg let them wander through Mycroft’s hair and over his face, as if he wanted to learn his body by heart.

Then Mycroft slipped away and positioned himself next to Greg, so that they were side by side, in each other’s arms, staring into the other’s eyes. Greg almost forgot to breathe as he saw the depth of emotion and the gentle love in Mycroft’s eyes. He hoped he could project even a fraction of what he was feeling in that moment.

“Greg, I want to take care of you tonight. I want to be… inside you. I want to give you every pleasure that’s in my power to give.”

Greg could only nod, as his fingers were slowly caressing Mycroft’s cheek. “Just one condition,” he said and let his hand wander lower, stroking the cloth of Mycroft’s suit.

“Name it.”

“I get to undress you. Slowly.”

“Am I your present, then?” Mycroft smiled.

“Yes. All mine,” Greg growled.

Mycroft shivered under his hand, then reached for it and placed it on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“All yours to enjoy.”

Greg felt a surge of emotions that was impossible to contain, so he wrapped his arms around Mycroft first, and held him as close as he could, just feeling the solid weight of his body… the confirmation that he was here. That he was real. Mycroft sighed as he held Greg just as tightly. Greg buried his nose in Mycroft’s neck and breathed in deeply.

“I love you,” he murmured against Mycroft’s skin.

“You really want me…” Mycroft whispered reverently. “No matter how–”

“Shut up. You’re amazing. I’m sure I’ll love every single part of you under this suit.”

Mycroft huffed a laugh. “Impossible man.”

“Your impossible man.”

“My love,” Mycroft replied. “I can’t recall when I’ve last been so full of joy.”

Greg moved his hands under Mycroft’s suit jacket and let them glide along the silken back of his waistcoat, uttering a slight groan.

“Bedroom, now,” he said and bit down on Mycroft’s neck, who laughed in response and delivered an equal bite as retaliation.

Somehow they made it to the bed unscathed, even though they couldn’t keep their hands of each other. Greg pointed to a spot in front of the bed and Mycroft came to stand there obediently, so Greg could take in his form from a slight distance. Mycroft looked absolutely delicious, still impeccably dressed despite everything, save for the slightly ruffled hair and the tented front of his trousers. He smiled at Greg’s obvious approval, beckoning him close once again.

Greg pulled Mycroft’s jacket off his shoulders, but not without rubbing his face over the expensive fabric first. It found a place on a chair next to the nightstand. Then he let his fingers glide over the purple tie, before that too was loosened and put aside neatly. Pocket watch and chain. Cufflinks. Greg took his time meticulously inspecting everything, then removing it with care.

“You’re dressed to kill,” he remarked as he kissed Mycroft’s wrists under the opened cuffs.

“I had hoped you would approve of my looks,” Mycroft admitted. “And since you had expressed interest in bespoke attire…”

“You look edible,” Greg said, sucked one if Mycroft’s fingers into his mouth to prove the point, and was rewarded with a shy blush.

He reached for the waistcoat buttons next, slowly opening them, then did the same for the white shirt. A short deliberation later he removed on the waistcoat, then pulled the braces down. Trousers and underwear followed in one swift motion, and he had to chuckle when he saw Mycroft toe off his expensive oxfords. Soon the man was in front of him in only his open shirt, his erection obviously interested in the proceedings. Greg let his hands move down from Mycroft’s shoulders, over his chest, and when they caught on his hard nipples, Mycroft released a sweet gasp. Greg didn’t lose a second, but leaned in and soon closed his lips around one nipple, worrying the other with his fingers.

“Fuck, please…” Mycroft breathed. “Oh…”

His knees gave out and he fell backwards onto the bed, taking Greg with him. Greg’s mouth slipped briefly, but soon he was licking across Mycroft’s chest again, latching on to his prize. Mycroft strained under him, cock rubbing against Greg’s trousers. His moans were loud, unashamed and hot as hell. Greg felt his body heat up impossibly further with every single one of Mycroft’s gasps for more. He was so focused on the other’s pleasure that a hand in his hair surprised him so much that he bit down, which only made Mycroft curse loudly.

“Darling, darling stop…” Mycroft huffed and pulled Greg off him. “You need to stop.”

“Why?” Greg asked, licking his lips.

“I intend to come inside you. Not like this.”

“Yes… fuck yes,” Greg hissed and nodded his assent. “Yes to everything you have in mind.”

Mycroft pushed Greg away further, so that he came to stand in front of the bed again. Greg looked down at the man, who was now lying in front of him, shirt loosely around his shoulders, flushed pink from his cheeks down to his chest, nipples swollen and angry red. Then Mycroft reached down and gave himself a languid stroke, humming his approval, eyes closing briefly.

“Undress for me,” Mycroft said as he looked at Greg again. “Show me.”

Greg swallowed. He could see a fire in Mycroft’s eyes that threatened to consume him. This was what he had wanted. This was the man he had wanted… and now he had him right here, in his bedroom.

“You look illegal,” he whispered, eyes flickering from Mycroft’s hand to his face, then down again. He held his breath when Mycroft reached for his nightstand and found the half used bottle of lube.

Trying not to be deterred, he reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, dropping it to the floor, just as Mycroft resumed both his position and stroking. Unable to face Mycroft’s eyes at the moment, he looked down as he opened his belt, then bent over to open his shoes. Only as he was down to his boxer shorts, did he look up again, and was confronted with a spell-bound Mycroft, who was staring everywhere at once, eyes darting across his body, cataloguing, admiring. Greg swallowed once more and bared himself completely.

The next thing he knew was a cushion thrown in front of his feet and then there was only warmth and pleasure as Mycroft kneeled on it and swallowed him down to the root. Greg almost fell over, but was steadied by two hands on his legs, which quickly wandered up. Mycroft sucked on him so hard his thoughts had trouble finding themselves and so he missed the sound of the bottle opening completely. As Mycroft started moving his head, he simultaneously pushed in a slicked finger.

Greg heard himself babble nonsense as Mycroft moved fingers and tongue in a way that was designed to make him pass out due to pleasure. He was barely aware of anything else, so as Mycroft pulled off and positioned him over the edge of his bed, knees on the floor – on the same cushion that Mycroft had kneeled on – he went willingly.

A few moments of cold air and lack of body contact made him look back, but could only get so far, before Mycroft gently pressed his head back down. He felt himself pulse against the blanket at the soft display of dominance. He realised that this was his new favourite place… under Mycroft, in any way possible.

“Spread your lovely legs for me, my dear,” Mycroft said in a low tone, and Greg was only too eager to comply.

He felt Mycroft caress his back, stroking downwards, over his arse, down his legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Then he hummed.

“Spread yourself. Use both hands.”

Greg drew in a deep breath and slowly reached behind him, touching himself with a careful caress. His fingers were shaking as he put them on his cheeks.

“Show yourself to me,” Mycroft said, his voice as breathless as Greg was feeling.

He whimpered quietly and pulled his cheeks apart, presenting himself. Never had he felt so exposed, as he was now, bent over his own bed like this. He felt a single finger travel up from his balls, until it reached that well-lubed hole and remained there, no pressure, just feeling.

“Very good, my love,” Mycroft said and pushed in, first one finger, then quickly working back up to three. “Do you want me?”

“Yes…” Greg breathed against the blanket, and wasn’t surprised when his voice was breaking, a few tears escaping him due to the tension in his body. He pulled himself even further apart, his fingers white on his own skin. “Fuck me. Please. I can’t wait… I need… I need to feel you inside me… Claim me.”

Mycroft growled behind him, pushing his fingers deeper, and Greg yelped as they found his prostate, massaging it for a few moments, then withdrawing. He could barely take half a breath before Mycroft’s cock breached him, pushing in slowly, but without pause. He tensed, gasping, dropped his hands to hold onto the blanket instead.

“Long time…” he breathed through the pain. “Give me a minute.”

“Everything you need, my love.”

Mycroft’s hands roamed over his back, stroking, petting. He held himself very still, even though Greg could hear his heavy breathing.

“I love you,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s back, as he bent over it to press light kisses to his skin. 

Greg soon relaxed perfectly under this careful attentions, and just as he felt himself let go, Mycroft pulled out and pushed back in. In an instant a different tension filled his body.

“So full…” he gasped. “Oh god… do that again…”

“This?” Mycroft asked with a smirk in his tone and pushed in at a very specific angle.

“Fuck…” Greg breathed. “Yes. Fuck me. Like that.”

“Everything you want…” Mycroft said and held Greg’s hips steady as he set a comfortable rhythm. 

They didn’t talk, just heard the other pant, felt their closeness as Mycroft moved, and Greg’s breaths escaped him in short gasps, timed with Mycroft’s pushes. He felt Mycroft’s hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin. He felt the slide inside him, hard and hot, the fullness he had missed so much filling him again and again. Everything in him narrowed down to the sensation, and to the way his cock was rubbing against the blanket. As his body grew hotter, he pushed himself up on his elbows, pressing his back up to Mycroft, who wrapped his arms around him in response and pushed his face into the crook of Greg’s neck. This close together, Mycroft could only grind inside him, but he reached down and took Greg’s erection in hand. Greg took what was given to him, whimpering Mycroft’s arms.

“Who first?” Mycroft whispered. “Do you want to feel me inside you? Or do you want me to fuck you through your orgasm?”

“Fuck. You can’t make me choose.”

“Think I will,” Mycroft said and snapped his hips forward. “Or I’ll keep you on the brink for hours.”

“You’re a sadist,” Greg huffed.

“Only a mild one. I don’t want to hurt you… just want to see you squirm.”

“Feel free to hurt me.”

Mycroft bit down on Greg’s shoulder, worrying his teeth with his skin. “Choose. Now. Or I will.”

“Fuck me through it, then come inside,” Greg said and Mycroft instantly sped up his hand. “Oh god…”

Mycroft knew just how to touch him, how to grind in him, how to whisper in his ear. All the dirty things he wanted to do to Greg. Some sounded barely legal. Greg’s breathing sped up as he was close, and he couldn’t even warn Mycroft before he was coming, but the other realised anyway and pushed him down again, fucking him in earnest. Greg shouted into to blanket, straining against Mycroft’s hold, but being held down without mercy. And just as he was relaxing, he heard Mycroft groan above him, and felt his cock pulse, warmth flooding his insides.

Mycroft fell over, blanketing Greg, breathing heavily, but still finding energy to kiss his neck and whisper tender endearments.

“Sleep now,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Wait a second… did you pick the lock on my door earlier?”

“Sleep, Greg. Sleep.”

Greg wanted to protest, but between the relief and the sex he had no fight left in him and lost consciousness before Mycroft had even pulled out.


	18. Chapter 18

As Greg stirred in the early morning light he knew two things. Firstly, by the pleasant ache down below, that he had been well fucked last night. Secondly, by the warm arms around him, that the man who had given him this gift was still in bed with him. Greg buried deeper into Mycroft’s chest and wasn’t surprised when the other started gently stroking his hair. With a content sigh, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft in turn and rubbed his cheek against the other’s skin.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said, his voice heavy from sleep. “I trust you slept well?”

“Knocked out completely. Someone saw to that.”

Mycroft hummed and bestowed a kiss on the top of Greg’s head. “You were incredible. Delicious.”

“Delicious?” Greg asked with a laugh.

“I may have cleaned you without any external help…”

A spike of heat shot through Greg and he felt a certain part of his anatomy wake up as well. His fingers tightened on Mycroft’s back.

“You didn’t… with your tongue?”

“Every last drop…” Mycroft said.

“Fuck… You can’t just say these things.”

“Maybe I want to provoke you.”

Greg huffed a laugh. “Well, it’s working.”

He leaned in and turned his head so that his mouth was directly over Mycroft’s nipple. Mycroft sucked in a breath before Greg had even touched it, just let his hot breath wash over his skin. Then, with the tiniest, soft lick, Mycroft already pulsed against Greg, a shy gasp escaping his lips. Greg brought two fingers to the nipple and held it loosely, but that in itself seemed to excite Mycroft beyond anything Greg had expected.

“So. You like that?”

“Rhetorical questions don’t become you,” Mycroft answered, and jolted when Greg pressed his fingers together for a second. His cock was leaking against Greg’s stomach.

“Can you… can you come from this?” Greg asked.

“Yes. Easily.”

“Oh god…”

“They’ve always been oversensitive…”

Greg pressed down again, only this time he didn’t let up. Mycroft through his head back with a moan, which turned into a shout as Greg treated his other nipple the same way. Mycroft’s chest was flushed where Greg watched it, his eyes unfocused, breathing so heavy as if they’d been at it for hours, though they had barely begun.

“I want to tie you up and play with you…” Greg whispered. “Make you balance right on the edge for hours. Fuck… I’ve never had anyone as responsive as you.”

“It’s a curse…” Mycroft managed to say.

“Is it?” Greg asked and cheekily twisted his hands. The reaction was instantaneous, loud and incredibly arousing. Greg couldn’t take his eyes off Mycroft, who was writhing underneath him, arms now stretched above his head.

“When I brush against something, it’s always distracting… I can’t help it.”

“I want to stroke you through your shirt until you come in your pants, fully clothed. In your office.”

Mycroft stretched underneath him, sublimely beautiful in his easy submission, eyes closed.

“If you knew where I worked… you wouldn’t say…”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Greg said and grinned.

“Filthy… you’re filthy…” Mycroft gasped.

“What exactly in our phone conversations gave you the impression that I wasn’t?”

“Beast.”

“I don’t see you complaining,” Greg responded and squeezed a lot harder.

Mycroft gasped, eyes suddenly open, staring unfocused, first at the ceiling then at Greg. His mouth was open, panting. Greg got up on his knees and straddled Mycroft’s thighs, so that their erections were touching. Then he leaned forward and brushed lightly over the already swollen nipples, seeing and feeling Mycroft shiver underneath him.

“Grab the headboard and don’t let go.”

It was a heady power rush to see Mycroft comply so easily. His body stretched out, chest upwards into Greg’s accommodating hands. Here I am, he seemed to be saying. All for you. Enjoy me. Greg didn’t know who was relishing this more – but wasn’t that the point?

He felt their cocks rubbing against each other with every movement, as he massaged Mycroft’s chest, enjoying the way the other pushed into his hands like an eager cat.

“Greg…” he whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Make me me come. I need… I need you…”

Greg shivered. There was something about an outspoken lover that touched his soul. He loved talking in bed, and Mycroft seemed to like it too.

“Nothing I’d like more,” Greg answered. “Tell me what feels good.”

“It needs to… god, I need it to hurt. No mercy, even if I cry,” Mycroft admitted with a flush on his face.

Greg eyes shone as they met with Mycroft’s, who had a look of anticipation, slight shyness and full blown arousal to them.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous…” Greg muttered and leaned down to kiss the other, who squirmed with delight, but didn’t let go of the headboard, as promised. They traded a few heated kisses, more tongue than anything else. As they parted, Mycroft’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open.

“Would you please– Ah!”

Greg had taken this moment of distraction to catch Mycroft’s nipples again, and immediately squeezed hard. Mycroft’s air was cut off, and his body tensed. A bit harder, and he was panting, tears forming in his eyes. Still he did not plea to make it stop, but rather to continue. Greg swallowed, gasping as harsh as Mycroft’s, and probably also as aroused as the man who was whispering for more… always more.

After only a minute or so, Mycroft’s breathing was speeding up and Greg felt his cock twitch against his own. He took a risk and twisted hard. The reaction was explosive. Mycroft shouted, tears running down his face, as he came, painting his own chest up to his chin. Greg could only curse, rubbed his hand through Mycroft’s release and used it to bring himself off in what seemed like seconds, marking Mycroft’s chest even more.

As he was able to breathe again, he looked down at Mycroft, who was smiling like a cat, stretching himself, evidently revelling in the feeling. His chest was red, nipples swollen… it did nothing to his beauty but enhance it.

“Thank you,” he said with a grin.

“The pleasure was all mine, believe me,” Greg answered with a laugh.

“Still… thank you for… catering to my whims. I enjoy this a great deal.”

“I realised that. Honestly, though. Just tell me anything and I’ll do it for you.”

Mycroft laughed softly. “That’s a dangerous thing to allow me. You’ll be on your knees a lot if I have my way…”

Greg just shrugged. “I might like it.”

“Let me clean up, beast.”

Mycroft wiggled out from underneath Greg, then drew a finger through the mess on his stomach and brought it to his mouth with a grin. Soon he disappeared into the bathroom. Greg flopped back onto the bed, sated, but not tired. A few seconds later his phone rang.

“Mycroft?” he asked as he answered.

“Thank god you’re answering my calls again…”

“Are you calling me from the bathroom?”

“...I had to make sure.”

Greg laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“Not a word usually associated with me.”

“Well, you are. And yes, I’m answering your calls again. Couldn’t live without them. It’s only been a few days, but they’ve been hell for me…”

“Self-inflicted hell,” Mycroft reminded him.

“And I’d do it all over again if it means that I’ll end up with you.”

“Join me in the shower?”

“Be right there.”

“Greg?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, impossible man.”

“I love you too, evil mastermind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cherish every single comment and kudos you all have left so far! Thank you for joining me and the boys on this journey! See you next time!


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